Over the years I've been blessed with many new and wonderful friends. The kind of friends I can believe will be around for the long haul. They are supportive, honest, and endlessly loving. I would not have made it through the past year or found myself living it up in Ireland without these people. I will thank God 'til the day I die for sending me these angels.
One such angel (though she may disagree with the label at times) is my friend Rebekah. Rebekah and I became fast friends as I divulged too much information on the first day of knowing her and she never blink an eye. Since then I have vented my fears, my joys, my heartaches, my everything with this amazing woman and every time I think I'm going to officially lose my shit and fall off the end of the earth--she forces me to see the good in me.
Since then, her family has become my family and my family has become hers. I can't imagine life without such a loving friend, nee, sister. So you can imagine my surprise when she began to sink and one day actually said, "Thank you for staying my friend."
What? The thought never crossed my mind. What sort of people had she known that would have left her side for not being "perfect?" In my eyes, she comes pretty damn close. I laughed at the absurdity and promised her my friendship through thick and thin. If anything, it was nice to finally hear her talk about her problems as it always seemed to be me doing the bitching. Since then, she has opened up more than ever. Not only with me, but with others she loves as well.
Today I received a surprising message from her. It was utterly inspiring and I asked her if she would like to share her story on my blog. I am honored and thrilled to say she agreed. A million thanks and applauds are due to this badass woman--my friend.
Here is her story.
The night before writing this post, I sat in the bathroom wearing a cape and watched my boyfriend shear off all my hair. I thought I would cry when it happened, but instead I felt relief. I felt like I could finally let go of things I had held onto for so long. Let me start from the beginning…
When I was born, I was bald. That was the last time my hair has been this short. My mom always told us my dad wouldn’t let her cut our hair too short. Girls were supposed to have long hair. I think she did cut it though; when we wouldn’t take care of it and it would get so tangled she couldn’t brush it out. Nonetheless, I grew up attached to my hair. It has been my security blanket. My mark of femininity. In eighth grade when I was going through my “goth type” phase--when I wore big black pants and black shirts--my hair was streaked with purple that my sister had combed in for me. My weird hair was another way to keep people away. I eventually moved past that phase. Into the insecure high school girl phase. The one who keeps quiet and gets her opinion from those around her. My hair was long and frizzy. I still hadn’t learned how to take care of it. How to take care of myself. My senior year of high school, I cut my hair up to chin length. I felt ugly. I couldn’t wait for it to grow back. My senior pictures still show my short hair and a girl who couldn’t figure out where she wanted to be or who she wanted to be.
My first day of my freshman year of college, I met my friend Nicole. Nicole’s mom was a hairdresser and she knew how to tease and straighten and force your hair to do your bidding. Nicole taught me about makeup and smoothing serum, and how to enhance the beauty that I never felt was there before. I want to clarify that no one ever made me feel like I wasn’t beautiful. My parents and family and friends always told me I was cute, but the deep inside feeling of being beautiful never occurred to me until I left home and had to make my own choices; decide my own opinions. Throughout college I kept my long hair. Another friend suggested I dye it a dark brown. It was an improvement over my mousy brown hair color. I kept it that way until I graduated college, and married a man I would divorce two and a half years later.
Looking back on my wedding pictures, I don’t recognize the bride. She is this girl, who doesn’t even know herself, agreeing to spend the rest of her life with another person. I was too young to get married. I picked the wrong partner. He was a good person. Still is a good person. But he wasn’t the right person for me--for the person I would finally begin to see I was. We had good times while married, but in the end it was clear to both of us that it wasn’t right. It would never be right. We were too different. I still had a lot to figure out about myself. Towards the end of our marriage, I cut my hair chin length again. But this time, I didn’t feel ugly. I felt like I was finally starting to see the real me, or at least the beginnings of me.
I, like a bad lifetime movie, had a rebound relationship that was just awful. I picked the total opposite of my ex-husband and dyed my hair blonde. A stark contrast to my marriage and a stark contrast to the hair color I had been wearing around for years. This relationship fizzled, as rebounds do, when I realized that once again I was hiding the real me. I was hiding the grief of the past year and I needed to make a change. I had always wanted to move out of my home state of Michigan, so when I was offered a position at a company outside of Seattle, I jumped on it.
I never realized how much you learn when you leave home. Not just move a couple hours away to go to school, but really leave. It took me a while to come to terms with certain things. That I wouldn’t be able to run to my family when I was upset, that my relationship with them would change. That I had to be an adult. I bleached my hair and dyed it a bright poppy pink. I loved it. I loved that I could finally allow myself to do things that I had been scared of doing before; of leaving home and everything familiar, of meeting new friends while still keeping up with old ones, and of dying my hair whatever the fuck color I wanted. I went from pink, to burgundy, and back to blonde. The biggest change for me though, was actually, finally trusting the man I am now dating. My current boyfriend is the only partner I have ever had who I fully, completely, trust. I even trust him enough to come near me with a pair of clippers! I realized through us sticking together through hard times, and him being so patient with me while I deal with my many flaws, that he is my family now. I have never felt that way before. That gut feeling where you know that this is the person you want to grow old with. The person you want to father your children, and the one you are proud to stand beside. The one who lets you do whatever you want to your hair, and is just as excited as you are about it. The one who lets you be who you are and encourages your path to self-discovery.
It took moving to a new part of the country, multiple fuck ups, countless boxes of hair dye, and a person who loves me know matter what. But I have found myself. I am comfortable in my skin, and I am proud. I can begin to forgive myself for the past pain I have caused, the bad decisions I have made, because no matter what certain people in the world think of me, I know I am a good person. I know I will experience beautiful, wonderous things. And I finally have someone I can share them with, fully.
Sitting in nothing but a cape and a pair of undies, watching my once beloved hair fall to the ground, I had the best feeling come over me. I have a fresh start. All the bad memories and pain that were trapped in my hair are gone. Swept up and thrown in the trash. All I have now is a fuzzy head and a beautiful, amazing, exciting life to share with my love. I can begin anew.
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